Someone Like You
by DenizaJane
Summary: Fic based on Someone like you - Adele. Rated for sexual reference. John leaves, Sherlock can't cope.


'I can't take your games anymore, Sherlock!' John shouted across the room, one of many harsh sentences thrown at each other over the last couple of hours. 'You're just so, so _childish_! I try and continue a coherent conversation, you break down into giggles, you ignore my advice… you ignore _me_, Sherlock. I can't do this anymore; I need a break,' he said, grabbing his coat and scarf. 'Preferably a long one. Maybe one that lasts the rest of my life,' he finished, and left the taller man standing in the centre of the room, stunned. Sherlock ran a hand through his curls.

'Yeah, well, I hope it does! I don't need you!' He shouted after his now ex-lover. 'I don't need anyone,' he muttered to himself. 'Never have, never will.'

-SH-JW-SH-JW-

_Another day,_ Sherlock thought to himself. _Day 1,826 to be precise. _He turned that number over in his brain. 'It's been five _years_?' he sat bolt upright, and promptly fell off the couch onto the pile of empty beer bottles and cigarette packets. 'Argh, my _head_!' he said, clutching the offending part of his anatomy.

'Coffee, Sherlock?' said Mrs Hudson cheerfully as she came in the room. 'Silly question, of course you will.'

'Only if you can make it _quietly_, Mrs Hudson, please,' Sherlock said. 'I've got a cracking headache.'

'I'm not surprised, with all that you drank,' she said, gesturing at the bottles he had just got up off of. 'Do you have _any _clean mugs in this place? When John was here-' she stopped, noticing the wince from the dark man. 'Sorry dear… It's today, isn't it? The five year mark?'

'Yes,' he said, trying to prevent his voice from cracking. Silence took its residence in the room, pushing its way into every nook and cranny, every empty mug and dirty bowl.

Passing him the piping hot of newly made coffee, Mrs Hudson placed a hand on the tall man's shoulder. 'Maybe you should try and find him?' the old woman said. 'Just a thought, Sherlock.'

He sat there for nearly three hours after she'd left. His coffee, now cold, sat in front of him, the cheerful colours on the mug mocking him with the memories they held. He could remember when they had bought this mug… about two months before John left. It had been raining, and neither of them could be bothered to cook. They'd gone out to Alonzo's, a new café down the street, seen it, liked it, and John asked the waiter if they could take it with them. On a hunch, Sherlock had batted his eyelashes at the man and he had agreed hastily, blushing. John had growled at that, and the punishment Sherlock received when they got home had been _totally_ worth it.

The drop of post through the door brought Sherlock back to the present, a small smile on his face. As he picked the multitude of letters off the mat, a small envelope slipped out. He picked it up and examined it. The address was written in all-too-familiar handwriting. John's handwriting. Setting it aside for late reading, Sherlock skim-read the bills and letters. One from Lestrade telling him to 'get his act together' was immediately binned, along with the customary pamphlet for rehab that Mrs Hudson always slipped in with his mail. When he came to the one from John, he hesitated before opening, pondering if this was the best thing to do. Giving up on rational thought, the dark man opened the envelope in one fell swoop, using the handle of a nearby teaspoon. Enclosed was a small card. It read:

_Miss Laura Sampson and Dr. John Watson would like to invite Sherlock Holmes to their engagement celebration at_ … It carried on for a few more lines, but Sherlock was frozen on one simple word. _Engagement_. The man he had loved since he first laid eyes on him, the man who had his cock shoved so far up Sherlock's arse for night after night was getting _married_? And dared to _invite_ him? 'Unbe_fucking_lievable!' he muttered, staring at the wall. He threw the invitation across the room, and was about to do the same with the envelope when he felt something move within it. Opening it up, he pulled out a handwritten letter. _Sherlock_, it read. _I know this is probably the wrong thing to do, and I understand if you don't want to come. But please do? I haven't heard anything from since that day. I'll save a space for you at dinner, and a place on the stage for your beautiful voice. I miss you, old friend, much more than I ought to._

Sherlock had made up his mind. Reaching for a pen and a sheet of paper, he began to write a reply. _One last time,_ He thought. _I'll see him just this once._

-SH-JW-SH-JW-

_A month later._

The music was loud as Sherlock opened the door ahead of him, and walked into the hall where the party was being held. Grabbing a flute of champagne from a passing tray, he cast his eyes about. Molly was there with her boyfriend, as was Lestrade and his wife. Then he saw him. Arm in arm with some pretty blonde, presumably his wife-to-be. Catching his eye, Sherlock painted a sheepish smile across his face, rubbing the back of his neck wit his free hand as he walked over to join them.

'Good evening John,' he said shaking the other man's hand. Turning to the woman, he said: 'and this beautiful creature must be Laura.'

'Pleased to meet you, Mr…?' Laura replied, looking to her fiancé for the answer.

'Holmes. But please, call me Sherlock.' He answered with a smile.

'Oh! So you're the man John speaks so highly of. It's great to finally meet you, Sherlock,' she said, smiling back at him. 'May I talk to you in private, sir?'

'Of course,' Sherlock replied. He led her to the foyer. 'What is it you wish to talk about?'

'John,' she replied. 'I know what went on between you and him, and I want you to know that he's mine now, and I his.'

'I –'

'Don't interrupt. I will, however, give you tonight to win him over.'

'What?'

'You heard me. I catch him looking at a picture of you two in his wallet nearly every day. He's not fully over you. I love him enough, that if he wants to go with you, to let him.'

'I… I could never do that.'

'I know. And that, Sherlock Holmes, is the difference between us. You'll be singing, I hope?' she asked, and Sherlock nodded. 'Good.' She finished, and swiftly left the room, entering back into the hustle and bustle of the party.

Sherlock stood silently for a moment before running a hand through his hair and straightening his tie. 'Knock 'em dead, Locky.' He muttered, using the nickname he'd acquired in college. He walked straight in and up to the DJ. 'At the end of the night, or close to, can you…' he whispered in the DJ's ear, who nodded when Sherlock slipped some cash into his hand.

The party passed by dully, slowly for Sherlock, who was anticipating the end of the night. Eventually it came.

'And now, ladies and gentleman. A guest here tonight wishes to sing. I give you, Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock stood from his seat in the corner of the room, and made his way to the stage. He sat at the piano and pulled the microphone closer.

'I've spent the entire evening trying to think of something witty to say,' he said, nervously, earning a small laugh from the assembled people. 'Well, here goes, I guess.' His long fingers grazed the keys, forming a melody known to all there.

'_I heard that you're settled down__  
><em>_That you found a girl and your married now__  
><em>_I heard that your dreams came true__  
><em>_Guess she gave you things, I didn't give to you…'_

A gasp came from the crowd as the sound of Sherlock's rich, deep voice washed over them.

'_Never mind, I'll find someone like you__  
><em>_I wish nothing but the best for you too__  
><em>_Don't forget me, I beg, I remembered you said__  
><em>_Sometimes it lasts in love__  
><em>_But sometimes it hurts instead__  
><em>_Sometimes it lasts in love__  
><em>_But sometimes it hurts instead…'_

A single tear escaped as Sherlock played the last chord. He didn't expect applause, but that was what he received as he left the hall.

'Sherlock, wait!' a voice shouted, running up behind him and catching his arm, spinning him round to face them. John. 'I-'

'John, don't. You'll just end up hurting both of us.'

'But…'

'Hush. As long as you're happy, I'm happy, John. I thought I'd forget, move on… but apparently even I can't get bored of love.' Sherlock said, looking into the shorter man's eyes. He leant down and kissed John on the forehead. 'Goodbye, old friend, I will miss you, much more than I should.' He continued, echoing the words at the end of John's letter, before looking over the other man's shoulder to see Laura. 'Look after him for me?' he asked, and she nodded. So, happy now that the man he loved was safe, he turned, and left.

-SH-JW-SH-JW-

2 days had passed since he left the party, and the happy mask was finally starting to fall away, to peel at the edges. It'd been raining since the previous evening, which matched Sherlock's depressing mood.

The doorbell for his flat rang for the second time that day. This time, Mrs Hudson answered it. Moments later there was the sound of feet sprinting up the stairs to his flat, before the bang of the door nearly breaking of it's hinges as a panting, and very wet John burst through it. 'Are you OK?' John said, rushing over to him.

'Yes, why?' Sherlock replied, shocked.

'Thank God.' John flung his arms around the taller man, pulling him close and burying his face in the crook of Sherlock's neck. 'I dreamt I'd lost you, that you'd died as a result of one of your childish games…' John loosened his arms and looked up at the grey-blue eyes belonging to the other man. 'I realised on a visit to Laura's sisters… every child needs someone to look after them. I want to be the one to look after you, Sherlock. You're my moon, my stars, my sunshine on the coldest day… God I sound like such an idiot. You see, I never intended to fall in love with you, Sherlock. I guess, between all our arguments, laughs, crime solving, and near death experiences, I fell in love with our friendship… I can't live without you. It's such a cliché, but-'

Sherlock quieted the man in front of him by pressing his lips to the shorter man's.

'John, shut up. Don't ruin the moment,' He said, grinning. The smaller man had a question in his eyes. 'There's something you want to ask, isn't there?'

'Actually, yes,' John said sheepishly. 'Will you… will you sing for me? I've missed your voice.'

Sherlock smiled down at John, and began to sing. '_It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside…_'

-SH-JW-SH-JW-

A/N Hmmm, nice fluffy story for you:) Please review?


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